


the flaw, the poor weld

by icedmachinery, icemachine



Category: Penguins of Madagascar
Genre: Gen, IMPLIED skipper/julien if ya squint, Internalized Homophobia, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24218413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmachinery/pseuds/icedmachinery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine
Summary: Weakness looks like - a body sinking, a penguin without a weapon to fight off the waves of emotions like soldiers attacking with purpose stuffed in their hearts & sewn up.All good leaders have it: the stealth bow and arrow, the confrontational sword or dagger, the violent end of a gun, or the clever stash of explosives. Pick up the arrow. Pick up your bow. Close your eyes. Imagine the fake targets as unwanted feelings.(Or: Julien and Skipper get trapped together in the plastic volcano, and Skipper works through his internalized homophobia. There's a lot of it.)
Relationships: King Julien XIII & Skipper
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	the flaw, the poor weld

**Author's Note:**

> title from crush by richard siken. yes i did name a penguins fic after a siken poem what of it.

Outside of their headquarters, January’s first snowflake falls from above - from heaven - and, mammal-slow, sinks into the waters of their habitat, water dissolving in water, the sky’s warmth dissolving in the water. Many things have dissolved here, many things have been buried in these waters.

Several newer snowflakes follow it, each one composed & framed differently than the others, each snowflake harboring its own story, its own memories, its own view of the fleeting life it holds until - eventually, inevitably - the snow hits the ground and piles up, or the snow hits the frozen water surrounding them & dissolves, or everything in the world dissolves, leaving only Skipper and the biting cold.

He likes to think of the winter season as if each day of unbearable weather is a test he’s given the others, except he’s playing along this time, he’s really showing off, he’s acting - ordering as if following a God-given cue, moving as if his body has rehearsed each move at a set time every night. Like he’s being directed by a ghost, an intangible force. A hatred that he cannot see. A cruel puppet master that he cannot _fight_ because it escapes reality.

It’s not like that at all, though. Skipper’s mind can run wild with metaphors, if he doesn’t focus on the brute force, on the slick and violent world. It can be - _tiring,_ he thinks, allowing thoughts like that to uncage themselves, to dash through his neurons like _true_ animals. It is tiring and unacceptable. What does weakness look like? If you were to imagine weakness as an object - organic or inanimate - what would _you_ picture?

As it turns out, _weakness_ cannot be personified or turned into a viewable phenomenon. At least, perhaps, not in his brain. He thinks weakness looks a little bit like this: allowing the snowflakes to fall & thinking of it as a combat test, or a heavenly test, instead of mere snow. It looks like - a body sinking, a penguin without a weapon to fight off the waves of emotions like soldiers attacking with purpose stuffed in their hearts & sewn up.

All good leaders have it: the stealth bow and arrow, the confrontational sword or dagger, the violent end of a gun, or the clever stash of explosives. _Pick up the arrow. Pick up your bow. Close your eyes. Imagine the fake targets as unwanted feelings. Imagine this target as a man. Not a human man; anything but human. Imagine this target as an animal. Imagine this target with shining, black feathers. Imagine this target with a beak, like yours, but rounded. Sharp. Like—-_

_Shoot at it. Land the arrow in its heart. Pull the heart out and pierce it with your sword. Do you feel better now? Has it subsided? Is the snow still falling outside?_

Stupid. He is making these fake targets into something real. They’re cardboard; they don’t _have_ hearts. They are for combat practice, weapons practice, for violence.

(It _does_ make it better. Temporarily. The longing goes away. He fixes himself. He is whole again; he is Strong again; he is Correct & Worthy & he is _not_ like the men who harbor _that_ kind of desire.)

(But.)

It is morning. The sun does not rise in the sky. There is too much snow, the air is too cold; the zoo will not open today. 

It is January 1st. New year’s day. He wants to make a list of resolutions. He’s never done that before, thinks that it might help to have a list of things he wants to start - and stop - doing. If he has a list, he will follow that list, and he can keep himself accountable for every slip up, every mistake, every horrid thought.

So he takes the voice recorder and finds a hiding spot, a place where no one can hear him. The others are still asleep. He is sitting outside of the lemur habitat, in the back of it, tucked away behind a garbage can.

He presses the red _RECORD_ button.

“Skipper’s log,” he whispers. “It’s the first day of the new year. I decided it might be helpful to… by the way, if you’re listening to this and you aren’t me, you didn’t hear any of this, turn away _now._ ” A long pause. He wonders if he’s losing his mind, contemplates if he broke - shattered - fragmented his mind long ago without realizing it. “I decided to make a list of resolutions. Things to do this year, things to stop doing. You know how it goes.”

He inhales.

“Number one: more challenges for the team. Who knows what this year is gonna hold for us; we need to be prepared for _anything._ I… need to be prepared for anything. Okay, um… second resolution. New equipment. We’ve needed some for a while, it’s time I stop ignoring that. Plus, it’ll be fun. Three, expand HQ even further. Four…”

Skipper grunts. He squeezes the recorder to the point that it makes a loud, shrieking noise. He’s never said this out loud before. He’s not sure if he can ever say it out loud. He’ll have to bury this recorder now, his secret deep beneath the ground, enveloped by the planet.

“Fourth resolution,” he continues, “is… I have to stop thinking about… that. I’m not like that. I’m strong, masculine, I’m… I’m not… whatever. I _have_ to get over this. I have to fix myself. I have to stop thinking of them in that way.”

He presses _STOP._ It automatically saves the recording. He feels nauseous, like he is capable of vomiting the weakness right out of his body, like he can extract it from his essence. Like—-

There’s a scream. He looks up, his eyes darting around the zoo, until they focus on the source: a _very_ disheveled Julien, with no crown adorning his head.

What?

He moves fast, on instinct, on a sickening _instinct_ that he doesn’t want to analyze. When Skipper finds Julien, he’s standing on the edge of the plastic volcano, a continued wail.

“Ringtail? What happened?”

“Thank goodness you are here,” Julien exclaims. He points inside of the volcano. “The snowy wind knocked my crown in here and I cannot get it out.” He holds his hands together, bats his eyes, a plea that elicits—

_No._ Resolution number four. He will never think about it - must never think about it - can _never_ give in.

“I take it you want me to get it for you.”

“Uh, yeah, of course. You _can_ get it for me, can you not?”

“Of course I can, Ringtail,” he says, cockily. “I can get it for you in less than ten seconds.”

This is good. This is - good. He can focus on something else now, he can throw himself into action, he can force himself to fixate on reality - what is _truly_ in front of him, instead of what is swimming around dead in his mind, instead of the sickness.

* * *

After retrieving a grappling hook from Rico’s stomach back in their habitat, he climbs the volcano, and uses the rope to lower himself down into it. He tells Julien to hold the rope as he stands on the edge, so that Skipper doesn’t fall (even further) (he’s already falling) (he has already fallen) (he’s—)

His safety is literally in Julien’s hands, which feels uncomfortable, which feels _wrong_ , which again elicits—

_No._

It elicits nothing beyond discomfort.

He has eyes on the crown, now. He reaches for it, touches the top of it, and, moments later, _finally_ grasps the entire crown.

“Pull me back up!”

“What? I can’t hear you! It’s, eh, echo-y.”

Skipper sighs. “I have the crown,” he yells, as loud as possible. “Pull me back up.”

Julien must finally understand, because he starts pulling the rope, Skipper’s body moving towards the sky, moving upwards, moving—-

“I’m slipping.”

“What?”

Julien is yelling frantically now. “I’m slipping—-the snow—-”

Skipper finds himself, faster than any light or scientific measure, on the floor of the volcano. And Julien is in his arms, has fallen into his arms, has _his own_ arms around Skipper’s neck. It freezes him, dissolves him like a snowflake in water, Julien is staring into his eyes, Julien is _gazing_ at him with a horrific look of intrigue. It resembles hunger, like he is a different kind of animal, insatiable. 

It reminds Skipper of—-

When the paralysis of having Julien this close ends, Skipper is so shaken that he accidentally drops Julien onto the hard ground. He chuckles, pretends that it was on purpose, that he _meant_ to do it because he is Strong and not Weak. 

The grappling hook also falls to the ground and, somehow, manages to snap itself in half. Useless.

“Thanks,” Julien says.

“No, this is your fault.”

“ _My fault?”_

“You slipped! Now we’re trapped in here.”

“Silly penguin. We’re not trapped. If you climb on my shoulders, I’m sure you could reach—-”

“ _No._ ”

The thought of touching Julien — the thought of touching _anyone —-_ is too terrifying, strips his skin off & parts his muscles away & makes him _vulnerable._ Vulnerability cannot be allowed.

“What?”

“I—-I mean, I don’t think it would work,” he says. He’s quite obviously backpedaling, but that doesn’t matter. “I… don’t think I’m tall enough for that.”

“Don’t you want to at least try?”

“It won’t _work,_ Ringtail,” he hisses. Too harsh, too violent. “End of discussion.”

“You are being weird.”

“I’m not being weird. Can’t you call for Maurice? Or Sad-eyes?”

“They are still asleep, and they are _heavy_ sleepers. Quite frankly it’s kind of annoying.”

“Are you saying we’re going to be stuck here until they wake up? Which could be _hours?_ ”

  
Julien looks away, _guilty._ Skipper just can’t hold himself back; he _yells,_ angry, he’s not usually filled with such _anger,_ and he can normally tolerate Julien. Why is it different now?

Is he —

He’s scared.

Skipper is never “afraid”, only allows himself to be afraid of one thing, but _terrified_ is a different skin, _terrified_ is another beast entirely; he is terrified of whatever Julien elicits, he is terrified of his mind and the thoughts that invade it. The desire to be weak moves, flows through him every time he sees another man, like an enemy entering his territory & yearning for war.

He throws himself onto the ground, rests his back against the volcano interior. The snow bites at him; he deserves it. He deserves it, he deserves every moment of this suffering, because he _cannot make it go away._

* * *

Time - Skipper guesses an hour and a half, but who knows - passes. Silence. They say nothing to one another; it would be pointless, it would only result in arguments and increased emotion.

He should have known better.

At some point, the snow stops falling. This makes things more bearable.

Also at some point, Julien has inched closer to Skipper, somehow without him realizing. This is intolerable. This - how did he not notice? Skipper is hypervigilant, has trained himself to notice everything about his surroundings. He _has_ to know everything that’s going on around him; if he misses something - if he misses _anything -_ he is useless, he is in danger.

This space is already small. How did Julien get closer?

“Can you move back a little bit?” he asks, composure, he composes himself. “Personal space, Ringtail.”

“Sure,” Julien says, but he doesn’t move away. “Just as soon as you tell me what your fourth resolution was.”

Genuine panic enters Skipper. His mind screams _evacuate, leave, run, run, run_ but there is no way to escape this situation; they’re trapped. He is afraid; all misconceptions of weakness have been drained and now Skipper is childlike in his fear, trying to stop himself from trembling, trying to calm the waves of his bodily functions - his heart races and pounds and betrays —-

It was a mistake. He should have kept it hidden. He should have _known better._ He always knows better.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It is an incredibly incriminating sentence.

“I _heard_ you,” Julien says, near-yell. “You were being very vague and I, as king, must know every secret in my kingdom.”

“I don’t have a secret.” Skipper stops himself. “Well, I have thousands of secrets, actually, and _none_ of them are things _you_ get to know.”

“Uh-huh. If you do not start talking, I will just have to be _guessing_ your secret.”

“Fine, go ahead. I bet you can’t guess a single one.”

“You’re gay,” Julien says. “Or you are bisexual. And you don’t want to be.”

Every single organ system inside of Skipper stops functioning; every gear stops, he stops breathing, his cells die - momentarily - until he can resurrect himself and he springs into action, pressing Julien against the volcano wall, hissing-biting: “We are _not_ talking about _anything_ related to that, got it?”

But Julien only laughs. “I’m right. I knew it!”

This makes Skipper stop, recoil. He hates himself for reacting so harshly. It’s not - it’s _not right,_ Julien did nothing to him.

How has he buried himself so deep in self-hatred?

“What do you mean you knew?”

The look on Julien’s face says that he’s starting to understand the sensitivity of this topic. “I just… it’s kinda obvious. You always freeze up when you’re around guys, like you’re trying to stop yourself from feeling things. It’s _really_ weird.”

He honestly didn’t know Julien could be that observant. He’s normally so self-absorbed…

If _Julien,_ of all people, can recognize this, Skipper knows that everyone else can. That knowledge makes him want to explode himself; he wants to swallow dynamite and flutter through the air, like snow. It’s sickening, he’s terrified, et cetera. This is not a very good story.

“I don’t… really know what I am,” he admits, because they’re trapped and there is no way out of this and he doesn’t even care anymore. “All I know is that… I’ve always thought of - people who - you know - as… weaker. Effeminate, maybe. I don’t want anyone to think of me like that.”

“You have a _lot_ of issues.”

“Thanks, I was unaware of that.”

Julien sighs, shakes his head. “Silly penguin. You’re not weaker for liking the same gender, and not every man-loving individual fits that speaker-type.”

“Um, do you mean ‘stereotype’?”

“I said what I said. Anyway. I know I am not the manliest man, do you think less of me for that?”

“No. Not for that reason.”

“I’m going to ignore what you just said.” He sighs again. “Look, I _promise_ you that no one here thinks you are weak. To be honest, I’ve heard people talk - I’m king, of course, so I _know_ all of this - and everyone here thinks you’re. Pardon my language, I am quoting. _Badass._ It honestly makes me jealous.”

He’s never heard Julien be this serious.

“Uh… thanks.”

“So get over it. You are too hard on yourself, and that’s a little embarrassing, so.”

He looks to the sky, and begins to reconsider every thought that has carved itself into his mind. Julien is - he hates to admit this - _right._ There is nothing inherently wrong with it, and perhaps the only weakness in the world stems from uncertainty, from fear. 

And, like an angel, he finds Kowalski’s face staring at him from above. “Skipper! _There_ you are. What happened?”

Before he can speak, Julien stands up, and starts screaming once again. “Thank the gods. Get us out of here.”

Kowalski nods. There’s a vomiting sound in the distance, and Kowalski lowers another set of rope into the volcano.

Skipper has to compose himself again. He makes it out of the volcano, safely, along with Julien (and Julien’s crown). He has to compose himself, he has to force himself to be normal—

_the only weakness,_ he thinks, _comes with fear. I cannot be afraid of myself anymore._

He’s getting there.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> pls kudos + feedback if enjoyed thank u


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